


it's that time of year (when the world falls in love)

by bleuboxes



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - Ski Teachers, Christmas, Drinking, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, idiots to lovers, the author said: i am going to project SO HARD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27926734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleuboxes/pseuds/bleuboxes
Summary: She looks up at him again – they’ve stopped moving – they’re just standing together in the middle of the room as the song plays on, there’s a shriek from the bathroom that Julie almost doesn’t hear – that she doesn’t care about because she’s seriously considering ruining one of the best things in her life –Maybe this is her being a little drunk – but maybe it wouldn’t be ruining it, maybe it would be making it better. Everything about Luke has made Julie better thus far –He’s her friend, and he makes her better.She thinks being more than his friend could be better, too.Or: Julie and Luke finally confront their feelings -- holiday edition.
Relationships: Julie Molina/Luke Patterson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 72





	it's that time of year (when the world falls in love)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wishinglondon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishinglondon/gifts).



> merry christmas y'all!!! 
> 
> hope you are all having a nice holiday season!!
> 
> this was supposed to be a ONE SHOT but the first scene alone is 7k and i was like. i need to split this up for my own sanity. I'm expecting two parts, but it could be three depending on how much i feel like writing lol. 
> 
> anyway!!! a HUGE thank you to quinn, lai, and sequoia for letting me bounce ideas off of of you. this couldn't have happened without y'all - ily.
> 
> Please pardon all errors - i edited this in the car bc posting this on christmas was literally written on my calendar. 
> 
> title comes from "The Christmas Waltz," by Frank Sinatra.

December 25th is, as usual, a crazy, hectic day. But that’s to be expected; it’s Christmas at a ski resort, and Julie Molina is a ski instructor – with the territory comes the nonstop rush of pushy parents and their excited (and not-so-excited) children, rosy cheeks and cold fingers, laughing and yelling to her friends from the lift as the lessons finally stop for the day, and they’re finally allowed to goof off on the trails.

December 25th means Christmas – it also means that it’s Reggie’s birthday- which, for the past three years since Julie and her roommates (who are also her coworkers, who are also her best friends, for some ungodly reason) moved into the town house at the foot of the mountain, means that no matter how weary the days make you – no matter how many crazy parents you’ve dealt with, or how many kids have had tantrums, or have been so wonderful that you can’t help but hope you’ll get to teach them to ski again, you better be prepared for Reggie’s rager.

It also means you better have gotten him two presents – one for Christmas, and one for his birthday – because _God forbid,_ he shares a birthday with _Jesus Fucking Christ,_ and _God forbid_ working at the mountain doesn’t come with a six-figure salary – she’s balling on a budget, here.

(But Julie understands; she thinks she’d also be a little miffed her birthday got conjoined with a holiday every year.)

So, _yeah_ – she’s exhausted, and _yeah,_ it’s only five pm and she might still be in her ski clothes, but when she got back to the house, Flynn and Wille were in the middle of making homemade Bailey’s, forced a glass in her hand, and informed her that Luke, Alex and Reggie were busy making a jump in the middle of the street and that they were going to go watch them act like dumbasses.

Julie’s never been one to say no to free booze, or to watching the guys make utter fools of themselves, so she joins Flynn and Willie on the sidelines, watching Luke, Alex, and Reggie fashion the freshly fallen snow into a large ramp – they’re talking to each other like they're construction workers; there’s a stark seriousness to the whole operation that makes Julie giggle into her drink. It’s only magnified when Flynn calls out to them, with a “ _How’s it going, Jackasses?”_

They all scowl; Reggie barks back something about how it’s not very nice to be treating the birthday boy that way.

“What are you,” Julie yells, “ten?”

She watches Luke look at her, his scowl is replaced with a funny little look that she absolutely is not going to think about because he’s her _second-best_ friend and her roommate and her coworker – and she’s pretty sure she’s also an honorary member of his band. So, no – she is not going to think about the light little feeling in her stomach. She is, instead, going to take a nice, long sip of Flynn and Willie’s Bailey’s, and she is going to smile, and give him a little, friendly wave back.

(She refuses to acknowledge the grin that spreads across his face. She is not looking – she does not see.)

“Twenty-three, actually,” Reggie retorts.

“And yet,” Willie says, “you’re still overshadowed by a two-thousand-year-old baby.”

“Willie; I told you, _don’t get him started_ ,” Alex calls back.

“Once you get him going on the Jesus thing, he won’t shut up about it, and that’s not fun for anyone,” Flynn whispers.

“That’s fair.”

“Yeah, he’s kind of an asshole.”

“But he’s _our_ asshole.”

“Unfortunately,” Flynn sighs; Julie gives her a look. “I’m _kidding_.”

They’re too busy with their own discussion to notice the construction crew has quit constructing – it’s when it starts flurrying that Julie notices that the guys are running up the hill; she watches them pop into their bindings, and Julie elbows Flynn, to her left, and Willie to her right.

“Look!” She points, then takes a sip of her drink.

Reggie goes first, skiing down the poorly plowed road in a tight tuck, then hitting the ramp with a burst of speed; he doesn’t do any tricks – Julie’s pretty sure this is a test run. He sticks the landing – it’s a little bit flat, which probably didn’t feel too great – but the jump is livable. Luke and Alex are cheering, and Julie lets out a little _whoop_ of her own. Flynn shoots her a look.

“What?”

“Yeah, Flynn; cut him some slack - he _is_ the birthday boy.”

“You got me there,” Flynn clinks her glass with Willie’s. Julie watches Alex rip down the hill, hit the jump, then throw a three-sixty like it’s nothing.

They all cheer. Julie watches Reggie scramble up the hill – watches Willie beam as Alex shoots a happy smile their way, and she watches Luke tuck, gain speed, then watches him as he gets massive air. Julie thinks he’s aiming for a three-sixty, but he over-rotates, and lands on the edge of his skis, wiping out once he hits the ground. It looks like a hard hit, but he pops up like it’s nothing, massive, toothy grin on his face. Reggie says something along the lines of “ _that’s what you get for not paying attention.”_ Flynn clearly hears the full remark, and turns to look at Julie, but she really has no idea what she’s got to do with Luke not landing a trick.

Reggie sends it again, this time doing a spread-eagle, Alex hits a five-forty with grace, and Luke manages to land a one-eighty on his next run. They stand there, watching until their drinks run empty; Julie’s hands are growing a little cold, and it’s fully dark out now – the guys are illuminated in the streetlight.

Julie, Flynn, and Willie head back to the house. Once they get inside, Julie hands Flynn her glass as she and Willie head to the kitchen to whip up another batch of Bailey’s. Julie hangs out in the living room and plugs in the Christmas lights bordering the windows; the colored lights turn the room a fun, purple hue.

“I’m going up to get changed,” she calls out to Flynn and Willie in the kitchen.

“When you’re done, come back down – you’re the tester,” Flynn yells as Julie walks up the stairs to their shared room – it’s tiny, barn-ceilinged and paneled with cheap wood, but she and Flynn have done their best to make it their own. Flynn’s “Goats in Trees” calendar hangs near the wall by her dresser; Julie’s hung a string of pom-poms that she found at Target over the window – adding a splash of color to the white fairy lights that hang in the same place. What areas aren’t covered in candles or plants, Julie’s got spare photos of her family, a few cards, and clothes strewn all over the place.

In her defense – Flynn’s side is also a train wreck, and it’s not likely to be cleaned anytime soon – especially with the coming week at work. Christmas Camp starts Saturday, and Julie doubts she’s going to have the energy to ski down the hill to the house and hop into bed, let alone clean her room.

She changes – removing her many layers of ski clothing, feeling the chilly air hit her skin as she finally feels unrestricted. She grabs her sweater, a knitted, oversized thing – white, with a band of red hearts knitted across the chest. It’s warm and festive – and one of her favorites. She pulls on a pair of black leggings and the snowman socks her brother sent her in the mail – an early Christmas present; as soon as Carlos was notified that the package had been delivered, he called Julie and urged her to open it, _immediately_.

He’s always been enthusiastic about Christmas and in putting a smile on Julie’s face – especially after everything.

She touches up her makeup, brushes a gentle shimmer on her eyelids, mascara on her eyelashes, and spreads peppermint Chapstick on her lips. She fixes her hair – already a mess from the wind, cold, and snow of the day on the mountain. She makes sure the two plaits are still secure from this morning, makes sure they're tied snuggly at the base of her head, and does her best to make sure the what’s loose doesn’t look too tangled.

Not that it matters – it’s a party with her housemates.

It shouldn’t matter, but it does.

Julie can’t stop thinking about Luke and the mischievously placed mistletoe that she’s been fortunate enough to avoid. She thinks after a few drinks, she might feel differently.

But she can’t think about it now. They’re friends – _good friends_ , and coworkers, and they live in the same house together. Even considering this folly idea makes her feel stupid – even if she’s pretty sure she’s in love with him. Even if she’s pretty sure he feels similarly.

She’s about to head downstairs, when her phone _pings,_ signaling a text from her father – _shit;_ she meant to call him earlier, after she got home from work, but with the craziness of the day, with Flynn’s insistence in observing the guys make fools out of themselves, it slipped her mind.

 _“‘_ Merry Christmas _, mija!’”_ she reads aloud, a sad smile grows on her face. Attached is a silly selfie of her father, Carlos and his girlfriend, and _Tia_ Victoria – all in matching Christmas pajamas in front of the tree; Julie can see the photograph of her mother on the mantle in the background. She misses them. She shoots back a text to her father, mirroring the sentiment and promises to call him tomorrow. For a second she feels lonely – spending Christmas away from her family – all the way across the country, but before she has time to truly mope, she hears the door thunder open, and the loud chorus of voices singing along to Wham’s “Last Christmas.” She laughs, then races downstairs to the kitchen, where Flynn is dancing as the blender whirls loudly. Willie’s trying to hook his phone up to Alex’s Bluetooth speaker – Flynn, Willie, and Julie all made a Christmas playlist – full of classic Christmas songs, and a few songs that don’t really fit the genre – it’s about variety (and aggravating Luke. It’s mostly about aggravating Luke) Frank Sinatra’s voice soon croons through the rooms, and Flynn thrusts a glass of Bailey’s into her hands.

“Let me know how this one is.”

Julie spins it around in the glass – then takes a sip. It’s got a good bite to it, but it’s still sweet enough that she likes it – but it's missing something.

“I think you could use a little more vanilla.”

Flynn takes the glass from Julie and drinks the remaining sip; Julie can hear Luke singing along loudly to “Wouldn’t Trade Christmas.” She watches Flynn make a face, then return to the counter, looking through the ingredients to find the vanilla extract.

“And this is why you’re the tester,” Flynn says, adding the vanilla, then turning on the blender.

The guys sing louder to counteract the loud _vhrrrring_ of the blender. Flynn doesn’t bother having Julie taste it when she’s done this time; instead, she fills the glasses Willie put on the counter with ice, then pours the Bailey’s over it – there’s enough to fill five glasses evenly – the sixth isn’t as full, so they plop in a few extra cubes and decide to give that glass to Reggie.

Julie takes her own glass and another – carrying them both into the living room, where the guys have moved onto singing along to “Santa, Baby,” which plays simultaneously from the speaker that Willie’s brought into the room.

“We come bearing gifts,” Willie announces as he breaks the threshold. He hands his spare glass to Alex, who accepts it with a loving smile. Flynn hands hers to Reggie, who gets scolded for an attempted sip before the official toast. A menacing look from Flynn forces him to surrender – he holds his hands up, almost spilling his drink in the process. Flynn hits his shoulder.

“Ow…” he mumbles, clearly being dramatic.

“You are _so lucky_ it’s your birthday,” Flynn grumbles; Reggie smiles – self-assured.

Julie stops paying attention to that conversation when she walks over to Luke and hands him his drink. His fingers grace hers as she passes the cold glass to him. She doesn’t think about how rough his fingertips are against her own.

“Thanks, Julie.” He says, looking at her with a wide, happy grin. His cheeks are still a little flushed from the cold – a pretty pink shade lays underneath a tiny bridge of freckles. She meets his gaze – his blue eyes meet her own brown ones, and she can feel her face flush.

“A toast – ” Alex proclaims, raising his glass. Julie and Luke make their way to the coffee table in the middle of the room that everyone is gathered around. Julie squeezes in next to Reggie, and Luke stands beside her. She swears she can feel the ghost of his hand against her back, but when she flits her eyes over to him, he’s decidedly not paying attention to her.

“To the birthday boy,” Alex pauses; they all clink glasses; Reggie looks about ready to start when Alex speaks again, “Jesus Christ.”

“Amen to that,” Flynn says, taking a massive sip.

“Are you fucking serious,” Reggie whines. Luke laughs. Julie ignores the way it brightens up the room, and instead, scoffs into her glass. 

“Don’t worry, Reg,” Luke says, “I heard Flynn went over to the ski shop and got the shot ski mounted just for you.”

“I heard she actually invested in the _actual_ thing – ”

“It’s not just plastic shot glasses duct taped to the ski this year?”

“Please tell me she got like… actual shit to drink. I don’t think I can do Svedka ever again.”

“Dude, it was Julie that got sick that night. You literally stood there and took selfies on her phone while she was puking her brains out.”

“I can’t believe you’re still talking about that – it’s been three years, you guys.” Julie huffs, noticing the music shift again.

“It was the first time we hung out outside work, though – hard to forget.”

“Yeah – like, remember when Luke was like -”

Julie’s looking at him and notices the glare he shoots Reggie’s way.

“What,” she asks, playfully – because she knows, and _yeah_ maybe it is a bad idea to egg him on (for reasons that were mentioned before), but - _fuck it –_ it’s Christmas, and she’s planning on getting absolutely hammered tonight anyway – so any poor decisions made regarding Luke tonight can be filed under _Sorry – I don’t remember_ if they end badly.

Which, knowing Julie’s luck, they probably will. But life is short, and she’s pretty sure she’s in love with her roommate, and, well, maybe she _has_ secretly been scouting out the mistletoe locations.

“Do you think I don’t remember when you said ‘ _It’s an honor to be here_ ’ when I thanked you for holding my hair back?”

He looks sheepish; Reggie bursts out laughing, then takes another big sip of his drink.

“Okay – _maybe_ I was hoping you would forget that, but in my defense, you were standing on the pool table in Shea’s like twenty minutes earlier belting a Taylor Swift song – ”

“Like you don’t remember what it was,” Reggie scoffs. He then finishes his drink. “Flynn," he yells over the noise, “Luke said something about a shot ski –” Reggie walks off into the distance. The conversation between him and Flynn can’t be heard over the music, or Alex and Willie’s singing.

“Fine,” he huffs,” no longer embarrassed, “’You Belong With Me.’”

“You called me a... what was it again?” she jokes, nudging his arm. “ _’A human wrecking ball._ ’”

“I stand by that."

“I’m _well aware_ ; you’ve only said it about thirty thousand times since then.”

“I’ll say it again.”

“Please don’t,” She laughs.

“Twist my arm, Molina –”

Luke’s cut off by Reggie’s shot ski announcement. He’s carrying it in front of him like it’s something sacred – and Julie laughs at Willie’s exasperated look as he follows behind carrying a large, blue bottle of something.

“Alright, losers!” Reggie announces, placing the ski on the coffee table. “Will The Phantoms please join me, up here.”

Julie groans, and Luke laughs at her reaction, rolling his eyes.

“C’mon, Jules,” he teases, taking her hand and pulling her to where Reggie stands in the middle of the room, “We haven’t even done the shot yet.”

“It’s cake flavored.” Reggie adds, helpfully, when Luke and Julie come close enough.

“God, _noooo,”_ Julie whines, “Reg, do I have to?”

He shoots her a deadpan look.

“We didn’t get him a cake,” Alex states, as he enters the room, then stands between Julie and Luke, putting his arm around their shoulders, “We owe him this much.”

“I wish we didn’t.”

“Yeah, well. Me too.”

Flynn emerges from the depths of the kitchen and meanders her way around Reggie to the opposite side of the room – Willie follows her, and Reggie unscrews the cap on the vodka bottle, then pours the four shots – nice and tall. Julie mentally prepares herself. It’s not Svedka but she knows it’s going to be bad.

Reggie sets the bottle down on the table, a little bit splashes up on the sides. They line up – Reggie, then Alex, then Luke, then Julie, taking the end – and they gently pick up the ski after a three-count, doing their best not to spill anything. Flynn gets her phone out, and starts recording a video like she’s a proud mother –

“How’re we doin’ this?” Luke asks.

“Happy birthday, then we down it,” Reggie says.

“Can we just get it over with?”

“No. And for that, Julie, we’re gonna be stretching this out as long as possible.”

“I literally hate you. So much.”

Reggie leans over the ski a little, just so he can get a good glimpse at her before he blows her a little kiss. She flips him off.

“The camera’s rolling,” Willie says – as Flynn’s clearly having too much fun recording Julie being a wuss and Reggie being an asshole.

“Alright, alright – ready?”

“ _Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Reginald! Happy birthday to you.”_

It’s maybe the most in-key version of “Happy Birthday” that Julie’s ever heard – but that’s bound to be the case when all her roommates are singers and the people she’s doing the shots with are all in the same band. It’s pretty, and it’s fun – and she can feel a warm smile grow on her face – as she’s here celebrating with her friends – even if it is a closeted Christmas party and not an outright one.

The revelry is immediately wiped off her face when she feels the ski rise – as she lifts her arms and brings the glass to her lips, throwing back the nasty, cake flavored vodka as fast as she can; Flynn and Willie laugh from across the room.

“Oh my god,” she says, making a face and bringing her hand up to her mouth. She can still taste the artificial cake and can still feel a slight burn in the back of her throat.

Alex has dropped the ski completely, and is leaning against the doorway, “That was _disgusting_.”

“ _Jesus Christ.”_ Luke says, still grimacing.

“It wasn’t _that_ bad, assholes.” Reggie shrugs, placing the ski back on the table and refilling the glasses, “Alright, round two – who’s in?”

Alex and Julie look at each other and say _not me_ at the exact same time. Luke sighs, and takes the spot next to Reggie, who looks at his friend, beaming. Flynn looks at Willie and shrugs. She pockets her phone, and takes the spot next to Luke, and Willie takes the end. Julie heads to the kitchen; she can hear the loud countdown – the loud _three-two-one_ from where she stands in the refrigerator light, looking for one of Flynn’s pre-bottled Bailey’s. She pulls one out and uncorks it – pouring a moderate helping for herself then taking a large sip before filling it once again.

She puts the bottle back in the fridge, just standing alone in the dark of the kitchen, watching the light from the doorway permeate into the room, admiring the way it makes the shitty white linoleum floor look almost pretty – like a snowbank the day after it’s been plowed, still white, still shiny, just a little dusty from the salt and cinders on the road.

She stands there long enough for Luke to notice – he enters the kitchen, sees her cradling her glass and leaning against the kitchen counter and takes up the spot next to her. She leans her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, listening to the opening verse of Sinatra’s “Mistletoe and Holly.” His voice croons across the lower levels of the house. She sings along quietly, a soft, gentle lilt to her voice as she thinks of past Christmas’s – before she went to school out East, before she had ever seen snow on Christmas, before she really got into skiing (and eventually, ski teaching), before she met Flynn and Alex and Reggie and Luke.

She misses home sometimes; misses the way her mother would call her over to the piano with an elated and fond tone of voice to sing carols. She misses dancing along to Ella and Frank and Johnny Mathis in the light of the Christmas tree on her mother’s toes.

Her absence is still fresh, even if it has been years.

It’s a quiet, persistent sort of ache – it’s not so bitter anymore though, more nostalgic.

“My mom used to love this song,” she admits after a second. “She loved Sinatra in general, actually, but like there's something about Sinatra and Christmastime, you know? I remember one year – it was right before she got sick, I think, and we were trying to make a red velvet cake or something – but we got the food dye all over our hands, and I was all worried it was gonna get all over my shirt, and she took my hands, and said something like, “ _Stop worrying, mija – it’s Christmas!”_ and then she started singing this sing and we just kind of danced and laughed around the kitchen.”

She opens her eyes, removes her head from his shoulder, and smiles softly at nothing in particular. It’s a good memory, even if it does leave her feeling a little melancholy.

She can feel Luke looking at her – it’s piercing, and she feels hot under his gaze, like snow next to a flame; she can feel the heat eat at her, melting her until she can’t ignore it anymore – she turns to look at him, and sees him smiling, gently – one of his hands is out-stretched like he’s offering her a dance.

 _Oh –_ she thinks, _he’s offering me a dance._

She doesn’t even think twice about taking it.

His hand is rough in her own, she can feel years’ worth of callouses on his fingertips, she can feel how weathered they are from the cold, cold winter; but he holds her hand daintily, like she’s not Julie from Ski School, like she’s not Julie his roommate. She doesn’t want to think about it. Instead, she focuses on not spilling the almost-full glass in her other hand.

He’s a terrible dancer – she’s not much better, but she can’t help but laugh as he twirls her across the kitchen floor, singing along – purposefully off key as not to derail from Sinatra’s voice and to get her to laugh –

Luke always makes her laugh.

They waltz their way out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Reggie, Willie, Alex, and Flynn are sitting crammed on the couch, participating in an intense game of Mario Kart – Julie notices how hunched over they are, and that they’re on their third lap – Luke must too, as they both share a mischievous look, and decide to sing the last verse as loudly and as terribly as they can in hopes of pissing someone off.

_Oh, by gosh, by golly  
It’s time for mistletoe and holly  
Fancy ties and granny’s pies  
And folks stealin’ a kiss or two  
As they whisper, “Merry Christmas” to you_

The song fades out, and Luke and Julie share a shit-eating grin as they listen to four collective voices tell them to shut up and as they dodge a pretzel thrown at them by Reggie, who seemingly has lost the race by a lot.

“Suck my _dick,_ losers,” Flynn shouts, jumping off the couch and doing a little victory dance. Julie watches as she flicks her braids over her shoulders like a fucking queen. She’s so ridiculous; Julie doesn’t know what she’d do without her. Alex just seems to be happy he beat Reggie – as he came in eleventh place, and offers Willie a congratulatory kiss on the cheek, as he nearly beat Flynn.

But close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, not the third and final lap of the Special Cup.

“Drink up, bitches,” Flynn teases. Reggie throws a pillow at her before grabbing the blue bottle of the cake flavored vodka and taking a long, drawn out sip. Just watching makes Julie feel sick. She says as much to Luke, who’s still holding her hand. She makes no effort to remove hers.

He snorts, “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Says you.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Peanut butter on eggs is literally disgusting, Luke.”

“I am not arguing with you about this again.”

He’s saved from her rebuttal by the opening notes to “Love It If We Made It.” Flynn yells, ignoring the ongoing rematch and dropping her remote in lieu of running over to Julie and taking her hand from Luke's.

“Put that drink down,” Flynn urges, as the intro grows louder. Julie frantically looks for a place to put it; Luke offers to hold it for her. She doesn’t have time to say thank you, though – both her hands are in Flynn’s; she and Flynn are nearly face to face.

“ _We’re fuckin’ in a car, shooting heroin, saying controversial things just for the hell of it –”_ both girls sing along, loudly –

Julie’s jumping with Flynn, both girls singing along like their life depends on it. Julie feels light, maybe from the booze that finally seems to be hitting her, and maybe from the joy of celebrating with her friends.

“This is _not_ a Christmas song,” she hears Luke say, as he makes his way over to the couch, putting her drink down – she grabs his hand, raises her arm, and makes him spin under it – he laughs, eyes wide with amusement and mirth. She stands on her tiptoes, bouncing along to the beat – looking back to Flynn, then back to Luke – right in his pretty, deep blue eyes.

He’s dancing along too – even if he doesn’t know the words. It’s cute.

He’s cute.

Flynn comes up next to her, and bumps her hip as they sing along –

“ _And poison me, Daddy – I got the Jones right through my bones -”_

She sticks her tongue out at him; she’s not sure why, but she’s having a blast, dancing and jumping along, moving from bothering Luke with stupid, pointed fingers and badly sung lines to dancing around Flynn.

Luke seems to be loving the attention, though, and she can’t seem to stop taking his hand and spinning him around.

Flynn gives her a look - Julie doesn’t care – _it’s Christmas_.

The song ends, and suddenly the house is filled with the charming voice of Ella Fitzgerald as she sings “Frosty the Snowman.” Julie walks briskly to the table, grabs her drink, and downs what’s left of it, taking Flynn’s old spot on the couch, grabbing her remote.

“I’m in next,” Julie says, competitive glint in her eye. The guys cheer as they keep racing.

Alex wins that round; Reggie takes another large gulp from the vodka bottle, and passes the bottle to Willie, who does the same, then passes it along to Flynn.

“Seriously?”

“You got last; sorry,” Willie says, not sounding very sorry at all.

Flynn flips him off. Julie giggles: Luke notices, and he heads over to the couch, perching himself on the armrest, like a bird.

Flynn makes her way over, as well, sliding herself between Julie and the edge of the couch.

She’s only a little mad.

* * *

Julie races as Rosalina, and while racing Carlos in her youth has enabled her to be pretty good at this game, she comes in first one out of four times – and she’s unfortunately become acquainted with the nasty vodka once again.

It’s fine though – she’s just the prefect amount of drunk where everything makes her happy and it makes the vodka taste less terrible as it goes down. During the last round, Luke and Flynn take a shot in solidarity with her.

Reggie gets bored with the game after that, and decides he wants to open his birthday presents, so they all go on a mad dash to grab their gifts – Julie’s is buried in her closet and is hastily wrapped in the funnies section of the newspaper.

Julie’s the first one back and hands her gift to Reggie.

“Happy birthday, Reg,” she says, giving him a hug.

“Thanks, Julie,” he says kindly, hugging her back. He’s an asshole, sure, but he’s a secret sweetheart – they wouldn’t be friends – let alone roommates, if he wasn’t endearing in some shape or form, even if he is a little abrasive. 

She’s also laying it on thick because her gift was literally three dollars at Goodwill and he’s going to be pissed about it.

She takes the seat at the edge of the other couch, where she had been sitting before. She sways along to the song playing from the speaker, as Flynn and Alex file in. Flynn takes a seat to Julie’s right, between her and Reggie. Alex sits on the chair in the corner, when Willie enters the room, he gives Reggie his gift with a smile, and proceeds to drape himself across Alex. Luke enters last – the slight bounce to his walk is even more pronounced than usual.

There’s a tiny bit of room between Julie and the armrest of the couch, and he tries to squeeze himself in.

It’s not working.

“Your ass is s _o boney_ , dude.”

He sneers at her, wiggling himself again, trying to fit in the space. It doesn’t work.

“Get up a second,” she urges; he obliges. She stands up as well. “Sit.”

“What about you?”

“I’m taking your spot.”

“You’re going to literally be on my lap – there’s no room,” he says raising an eyebrow, but there's also a level of serious concern that creeps through his look.

“Is that a problem?”

He shakes his head, _no._

“That’s settled, then.”

Julie sits down, half on Luke’s lap, half not.

She’s thinking about it.

“Are you done?” Reggie asks. Julie doesn’t dignify him with an answer. Luke flips him off.

He opens Willie’s present first – it’s a sleek, silver bangle – nothing fancy, or elaborate, but it looks beautiful, Reggie puts it on immediately, and offers a heartfelt _thank you_ to Willie, who smiles back in return.

He opens Flynn’s gift next – a black tee with white lettering that reads “World’s Okayest Bassist.”

“I hate you,” he laughs.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

"You’re gonna put it on now, aren’t you.”

“… No.”

Flynn shoots him a questioning glance.

“Okay – _fine_ , you got me.”

He takes off his jacket and white tee and throws on the shirt Flynn got him. Flynn doesn’t say anything, but she looks pleased.

He opens Julie’s gift next –

“Dude, _seriously?_ ”

“You had dad and mom, I figured it was time to extend the family.”

He holds the mug up to his face, inspecting it, reading “#1 Grandpa” like it’s a sacred text.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

She blows him a kiss.

She feels Luke’s arms wrap around her waist, pulling her more onto his lap. She leans back, instinctively, and tries not to think about how nice it feels, or how warm he is, or how hot her cheeks are.

Reggie takes the box Alex brought in last –

“Luke and I went in on this together – before you have a conniption.”

“I do not have ‘ _conniptions_.’”

“Okay, Reg. _Sure_. Just… open the present.”

He rips into the box, and pulls out a green paper crown, and a cape; he holds them up, clearly a little confused. Alex signals him to keep digging through the tissue paper. Reggie shrugs, and does as he’s told – not after taking another hefty sip from the bottle in front of him. He pulls a paper out of the green tissue paper and holds it three inches from his face to read it.

He won’t admit it, but Reggie has terrible eyesight, and it probably doesn’t help that the room is currently only being lit by string lights, both on the tree, above the mantle, and around the windows.

“What’s it say?” Flynn asks – beating Julie to the question.

“’Lord of Glencoe… Lord Reginald James Peters’ and a bunch of other words that are small and doing a lil dance on the page,” He pauses, thinking for a moment, and then: “You got me a plot of land in Scotland?”

“Yeah!” Luke exclaims, “And we made you a Lord, dude. You’re a _Lord.”_

Julie stifles a laugh as Reggie’s mouth drops open; she turns her head slightly so that she’s able to whisper in Luke’s ear, “I think you broke him.”

“He’ll live.”

“Put on the crown and shit!” Willie cheers on. Reggie listens; it’s a bit of a struggle getting the cape on; he has a little bit of trouble tying the fabric around his neck. Flynn gets so sick of seeing him struggle with it that she offers to help him. Getting the crown on is less problematic, but it sits askew on top of Reggie’s head of dark hair, the paper tips lie a little bent over – it’s funny though, Reggie’s too elated to care.

He’s about to make an announcement about how ridiculous this whole thing is, when suddenly Luke tells Julie to get up – she does, and he lurches out of the chair, and runs outside to the front porch. She’s a little confused, but he emerges carrying a ski pole –

“Sir Reginald,” he says, in a high-and-mighty tone of voice. It’s so ridiculous. “Take a knee.”

Reggie seems to know what’s happening. Julie’s pretty sure this is how knighting ceremonies go, but she’s not the leading authority on such matters.

Reggie kneels, one knee up, head bowed in reverence like this is something that’s real, something that has consequences outside a drunken night in.

“I hereby crown thee Lord of Glencoe,” Luke says, regally. He taps the ski pole on each of Reggie's shoulders, “You may rise.”

Reggie stands up – a little wobbly but stable.

“I’m the Lord, bitch.”

Julie loses it – fully erupts into a fit of giggles, deep belly laughs ring out from across the room where Alex and Willie are sitting, and Flynn, too, joins in, laughing into Julie’s shoulder on the couch. Luke bites his lip, trying to hold it in.

“I’m gonna be insufferable about this, you do know that.”

“Oh,” Alex says, “ _We know_.”

Reggie smiles, a wicked grin, “Best. Birthday. Ever,” then takes one more swig from the bottle. Julie notices that there’s barely a quarter left in there, and quickly stands up to take it from him, doing her part to make it look like she wants another drink –

She kind of does, but she also knows that once the world starts spinning, she’s a goner and she’d prefer not to deal with that tonight.

When she gets back to the couch, Luke is already sitting, and she plops down on his lap, bottle of vodka in hand. He cocks an eyebrow at her, and she shakes her head.

They all sit around, simply reminiscing for a while – talking about the band, about skiing, about how much Reggie can’t stand Jim and Mary from ski school – even though Jim and Mary are the nicest people on the planet and ski better than just about anyone on the mountain, and about how much he really loves them all – even if he is, and Julie quotes, _a massive cunt most of the time._

The music turns from mellow, low Christmas sounds to the iconic opening notes of “New York, New York,” and Julie, who had been feeling a little lethargic, jumps up – smile bright and wide on her face. She pulls Flynn off the couch, and Luke follows not soon after Julie, who in-between singing along, calls for assembling a kick line.

Reggie groans, something about not being flexible enough, but that only encourages Julie, who with the help of Alex, tries to teach him the timing and movement – even of it isn’t a high kick. It’s a hoot – Flynn sets her phone up on the table, propped up by the blue vodka bottle, and they all get in line.

“Here we go!!!” Julie says, as the key changes.

The kicks are slow, totally off time – Julie’s sure they couldn’t look less like the Rockette’s if they tried, but it’s worth the laughter; it’s worth having Reggie, still clad in his crown and cape nearly topple the whole line. It’s worth the loud chorus of voices, singing along, reigning in the holiday.

The next song that comes on is also not Christmas related – but Flynn and Alex know every word, and even if Julie isn’t sure of all the words to “Hot Girl,” she’s never not shaken her ass to Megan, so it’s a win-win. She notices Reggie going berserk for a second, but she’s too worried about laughing with Flynn and Alex to really pay attention to him. Alex bops away to the corner, fetching Luke and bringing him to where Julie and Flynn are. He’s again proving that he can’t dance, but he’s into it – it’s really endearing.

The song ends, and transitions into Julie’s favorite Christmas song, “The Christmas Waltz,” sung again, by Frank Sinatra, who seems to have become the unofficial sponsor of the evening. Flynn is about to reach for her, when Willie comes barreling in the room, announcing that Reggie’s gotten sick.

Flynn and Alex rush towards the bathroom, Julie would have joined them but, their bathroom isn’t really suited for more than one person, let alone six.

She’s also pretty sure seeing Reggie get sick will make her feel like _she_ needs to be sick – and, well, she doesn’t really want to get sick, especially since she’s feeling really, really good right about now.

She starts waltzing around the room by herself, big, flowy steps, eyes closed, and her voice is quiet but booming as she sings along. She opens her eyes – regaining her position, when she notices that Luke is still here – he didn’t go with them all to the bathroom to check on Reggie. He’s looking at her, blue eyes meet her brown ones softly, but with such an intensity that she feels like she’s too close to a hot flame – she feels like she’s burning, but it’s a good burn, like when you’re out in the cold for too long and you warm your nearly-frostbitten hands by the fire and it hurts, but it’s a good hurt; it’s a good pain.

He smiles at her, kindly, and she waltzes her way back over to him, curtseying and offering him her hand. He takes it. This time, she _does_ think about the callouses. She thinks about his hand, that rests on her back as they turn about the room, she thinks about how he won’t stop looking at her, and how she can’t stop looking at him – about how the ends of his hair curl outward, how his freckles look a little darker in the lighting of the room.

Her eyes flit to his lips, she notices how they’re a little chapped from the cold as they move along to the melody. She thinks about how easy it would be to kiss him right now – how easy it would be to stay like this forever, dancing along in Luke’s arms in the glow of Christmas lights.

She doesn’t kiss him.

“This is my favorite Christmas song,” she admits, not taking her eyes from his. He licks his lips, and swallows before responding.

“I know.” 

_Oh._

She blinks, and looks down, bashfully. It’s her favorite Christmas song, and he _knows_ that, and he’s singing along, and holding her and dancing with her – even if he is a terrible dancer – and it’s just – It’s overwhelming.

She looks up at him again – they’ve stopped moving – they’re just standing together in the middle of the room as the song plays on, there’s a shriek from the bathroom that Julie almost doesn’t hear – that she doesn’t care about because she’s seriously considering ruining one of the best things in her life –

Maybe this is her being a little drunk – but maybe it wouldn’t be ruining it, maybe it would be making it better. Everything about Luke has made Julie better thus far – whether that’s about skiing, or singing, or dealing with the loss of her mother, and being away from home, or even writing songs.

He’s her friend, and he makes her better.

She thinks being more than his friend could be better, too.

“Luke,” she says without thinking; his eyes grow wider – and he looks like he’s about to say something, but she cuts him off with a kiss.

He grows still for a moment, then pulls her closer. She moves her hands so they’re playing with the ends of his hair near the nape of his neck. It’s a little clumsy, and a little wet, but it’s _Luke_ , and if him looking at her made her want to melt, this makes her want to boil over – she feels like a teakettle, all hot water and steam building up, getting ready to whistle. She can’t help but smile –

“ _Julie_ ,” He whispers softly, only for her. His gaze is tender, more raw than she’s ever seen before, and she knows – she knows in her heart that he feels the same, and she nods, then he kisses her again. They stumble backwards and trip over the couch; She lands on top of him, bumping her forehead against his –

“Where’s it hurt?” He asks, as he sits up more comfortably, and she moves to straddle him. She points to her forehead – he kisses the spot, gracefully, then plants light, feathery kisses along her face, moving down her cheek to her jaw to her neck, where he stops tentatively to suck a dainty bruise.

“Luke,” she says – she intends to sound aggravated and exasperated, but it comes out breathy – it gets him to stop, she feels her cheeks flush. He smiles, shy, then kisses her again, pulling her more onto his lap.

It’s light this time, like he’s cautious – but Julie’s not – _she’s not_ , she’s assertive – she’s convinced herself she is, anyway.

This is the guy who called her a _fucking wrecking ball_ the first time they hung out, who calls her incredible whenever he gets the chance, who looks at her like she’s hung the moon, and all the planets and stars too.

He’s her friend, and she’s in love with him.

She grabs his face in her hands, holding his cheeks like he’s a holy thing – and kisses him deeply.

 _I’m in love with you,_ she thinks, as she bites his bottom lip.

 _I love you,_ she thinks, as his hands wander up her sides, squeezing her hips gently, in encouragement.

He lets out a low moan, as she adjusts herself on his lap, and she knows – she _knows_ , that being scared of this, with him, was stupid – this is the happiest she’s been in ages – sitting here, kissing Luke on Christmas while Sinatra’s voice fills the space in-between.

She’s not sure how long they sit there, kissing, but the feeling of being held – being kissed by Luke as her favorite Christmas song plays in the background, will be seared into her memory forever.

* * *

Julie’s not sure when she wakes up –

She knows the lights are out, and the faint brightness of the moon pours in from the windows – she’s on the couch, a blanket lays hastily draped over her, and she feels a little bit dizzy – it’s nothing a little water won’t fix.

She’s not bothered by anything for a moment, and then she feels someone pull her closer, feels warm breaths against the back of her neck, and hears a snore that she’s made fun of all too many times in the past –

_Oh God._

_Oh no._

_Holy shit._

She’s mortified.

She lies there, eyes wide and panicked for a few moments, she hears Luke whisper some kind of name in his sleep, she’s nearly sure it’s her own, which makes her worry more –

How is she going to get out of this, how is she going to _explain_ this – he’s her _roommate._

She was drunk – _she was drunk_ , and everyone knows how she gets – flirty, can’t hide a thing.

She was drunk, but she remembers it all very clearly, and even though she’s embarrassed, she can’t find it in herself to regret the whole thing. It’s just –

All the confidence about it being better last night has gone out the window, left in that girl’s place is Julie, an anxious, tired mess. There are a million what-if’s, the most prevalent being _what if he didn’t mean it._

(She’s sure he did – Luke’s particular like that, but he’s also a _man,_ and that worries her – what if he regrets it? What if they’re better as friends?)

She waits until his grip on her loosens to get up – she’s careful not to disturb him, and then makes her way to the kitchen for a cup of water, which she downs quickly, then refills it before heading upstairs to the room she shares with Flynn. She pulls her covers back, not bothering to change her clothes, and hops in, closing her eyes and wishing that when she wakes up this will all be just some sort of dream.

A good dream, but a dream, nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are the bee's knees!


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